


Married Life Is Full Of Purple Carnations

by FunkyinFishnet



Series: Violet Nights [15]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Family, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Loss, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balin was made for a life of planning, teaching, and advising, a staunch life of survival, no matter what he faces or who he faces it with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Married Life Is Full Of Purple Carnations

 

 

Her name was Eleanor. She wore an elegant suit, clearly tailored for a man, and a carnation pinned to her lapel. The night that Balin met her, it was purple.

 

She asked him what drink he wanted, leaning against the bar with her hip cocked and her smile pleasant and expectant. Balin smiled back and asked for a whiskey.

 

She poured him something pricey with an expert air and told him to have a good night. She leaned in close to be heard over the live jazz band and Balin could smell her perfume – honeysuckle with an edge of something else, pipe smoke? He watched her as she worked, friendly and helpful to everyone. Then Mrs Durin called him over and he took a seat, focusing quickly on what she was discussing with the group, the help that she would need to really establish Erebor and to open it more than once or twice a week. Balin was really there because his parents were, but they'd told him that if he wanted to help out, then he could, as long as he knew the risks.

 

He did, and he raised his hand when Mrs Durin asked for volunteers.

 

*

 

Balin was good at his schoolwork, all his teachers said so, and he had plans to become a teacher himself. He tutored his brother Dwalin, who spent more time getting black eyes than studying. He listened to Balin though, at least enough to successfully heckle his way through an hour's homework.

 

Their parents were too busy to help, oh they made sure that their sons were well-fed and rested and Balin knew that he and Dwalin were regarded with warmth and affection. Most importantly, he saw what his parents were doing – they were making a difference, helping Mrs Durin carve out a beacon for people who needed it. From a young age, he had met men and women who wore unusual clothing, men who held hands with men, and women who danced with women. His parents always danced with each other, but they regularly smiled and conversed with such people, sharing glasses and friendly open words.

 

This was the world that Balin and Dwalin knew. They couldn't imagine being part of any other and when they were old enough to explore what lay beyond its borders, they both realised that they didn't want to.

 

*

 

One day when Balin was leaving school, he found Eleanor waiting outside for him. She was wearing a pencil skirt and a large forest-green blazer. After so many nights of seeing her in trousers, seeing her clad in a skirt and kitten heels was a strange sight indeed. Balin felt more at ease when he spied the neat Full Windsor knot of her green tie and the white carnation tucked into her blazer's buttonhole.

 

Eleanor smiled warmly and several younger boys whistled as they passed her. She lifted an eyebrow, but indicated no further acknowledgement.

 

“Ready for tea?”

 

Something had happened; Balin recognised the phrase as one that signalled trouble according to his parents. He didn't question Eleanor yet, his parents had always warned him that there were often people watching, people who didn't like Erebor. So he just nodded and got into her car. They set off at a legal speed but the car was still stopped only a couple of streets later. Neither Balin nor Eleanor was surprised. Eleanor smiled as she wound the window down to face a blank-faced man in an equally blank suit. Eleanor's suits always had character.

 

“On your way home, ma'am?” the man asked, his tone patronising.

 

“Yes, and I'm afraid we're late for tea. His parents are working late so they asked me to collect him.”

 

The man looked even blanker, if that was possible, and he turned to Balin. “How old are you, boy?”

 

Balin sat up straight, very glad that it was him, not Dwalin, who was being asked such a question. “Sixteen, sir.”

 

The man looked back at Eleanor. “He looks like he could walk home without a chaperone, ma'am.”

 

Eleanor laughed, so calm. “I agree, but his parents are rather old-fashioned and as they know my boss, I could hardly refuse.”

 

The man made a couple of notes in a small slim notebook. “Your boss, Gretchen Durin.”

 

“Yes, you know her?”

 

Eleanor somehow sounded delighted and in response the man finally looked something other than blank, now he looked distinctly unimpressed.

 

“I know _of_ her, ma'am. If I were you, I would find less _notorious_ establishment to work in.”

 

Eleanor laughed again, but this time it was sharply-edged if you cared to really listen. “Sir, I'm glad of any work I can get and my family are glad of the money. May we continue? His tea will be getting cold.”

 

The man leaned in, his eyes shadowed. Balin watched him closely, he had been taught to take careful note of his surroundings, everything was useful in one way or another.

 

“A coffee house that serves whisky by the bottle and encourages sinful behaviour is no place for a woman of any age, let alone your young impressionable years.”

 

Balin could smell the tobacco on the man's breath, it wasn't nearly as pleasant as his own father's pipe smoke. Eleanor stared right back at the man, her back as straight as Balin's.

 

“It keeps a roof over my head and my soul is my own business. Sir.”

 

The man stared at her for a moment more and then withdrew. He was still staring at them when Eleanor drove off, her mouth a tight line. Balin glanced back at the man just once.

 

“I can describe him to Mrs Durin in great detail.”

 

Eleanor's shoulders relaxed and she smiled at him, a warm true smile that made his shoulders relax too. “A fine idea. We need to know whose keeping watch.”

 

“So we can keep watch on them.”

 

Her smile was impressed now. “Exactly. I know Mrs Durin values your help, Balin. If you want a place at Erebor after you've finished your schooling, then I'm sure you’ll have it.”

 

Balin thought about it. He still wanted to be a teacher but maybe he could still work for Mrs Durin too, inside or outside Erebor. When he voiced this, Eleanor smiled brightly and nodded.

 

“It's good to know your calling. Come on, I wasn't lying about your tea. Your parents are meeting with Gretchen, your brother is in detention, and there's stew and bread waiting for us.”

 

Tea was enlivened by good conversation and meeting Mr Durin, Thrór, Mrs Durin's husband who was back from a stint in the armed forces and looked ready to continue the battle on the homefront in his wife's name. Balin found himself talking to Eleanor for some time before Erebor opened that night for evening business. She recommended a good pipe tobacco and accepted his complimentary words about her black silk tie. When he left for the evening, out of a slim sidedoor that afforded him denial if necessary thanks to the other businesses close by, Eleanor handed him the white carnation from her blazer’s buttonhole.

 

Balin kept it pressed between the pages of a book that no one ever borrowed off him, tucked away on a quiet shelf in his room. He fancied once or twice that he could smell the flower in his sleep, but that was only a foolish little fancy.

 

The next time he saw Eleanor, he gave her a book that he thought she might like – the heroine wore men’s shoes, drank gin, and wielded a handgun. Eleanor’s smile became less polite and more delighted as she laughed loudly. Balin was quietly delighted too.

 

*

 

Balin and Dwalin's parents died after their sons left school and got situated in gainful employment. They had enough money to pay for the funeral. Mrs Durin attended in a blue dress that shimmered slightly; she said that Balin's mother had complimented it once. She cried black tears. Her husband was abroad again, fighting the fights that he liked best.

 

After the service, Balin found Dwalin outside sat on a fallen gravestone. Dwalin was favouring his right arm, the arm that now sported a fresh tattoo on the bicep, a small silhouette of a couple dancing, unconstrained by gravity. It was a choice that made Balin pause for a moment, his heart constricting, then he was moving again, his hand resting on Dwalin's shoulder. Dwalin pulled a half-full whiskey bottle from the nearby crumpled heap of his leather jacket and offered it to his brother. Balin drank from it until he could feel the burn.

 

Eleanor took the bottle from his grasp and swallowed a mouthful herself. Her lips looked liquid as she handed the whiskey back to Dwalin.

 

“Everything's ready.”

 

Balin and Dwalin followed her in silence, two grown-up boys not feeling particularly adrift without their parents. But there was a hole in their lives now and they both acknowledged it with plenty of sips of whiskey.

 

At Erebor, Mrs Durin gave an appropriate toast that received a resounding cheer. Dwalin talked with Thráin, Mr and Mrs Durin's son. Thráin was dark-haired, tall, and rangy, he was planning on joining the army, following in his father's footsteps. He gave Balin his condolences with sincere eyes, Balin wished him luck.

 

Eleanor served drinks until a man with curly fair hair took her place. Then she kicked off her shoes and asked Balin for a dance. It was only once he was at home much later that he discovered she'd tucked a pale-pink carnation into his pocket.

 

Her hand was cool when it touched his cheek, her lips were cooler.

 

*

 

Balin took Eleanor out for coffee somewhere other than Erebor, he noticed how people followed her with their eyes, sometimes admiring, but mostly not. Balin always raised his eyebrows with a steady gaze when those people stared at him too. Eleanor spooned brown sugar into her coffee, stuffed tobacco into her curved pipe’s cup, and smiled, mostly unaffected.

 

“Sometimes it hurts,” she admitted. “But I’d rather have a little pain than live someone else’s life.”

 

Balin took her to the pictures and on a few long walks, her gloved hand tucked into the crook of his arm. He admired how she worked at Erebor, how she always had a ready smile for people, how she moved to the rhythm of the band, how steady and rooted she was behind the bar. Even when the police raided Erebor, she was calm and prepared.

 

Balin took strength from her and smiled when she joked about his mysterious work at Erebor. The truth was, he’d begun there by waiting tables and washing dishes, doing what was needed for something he believed in. Then Mrs Durin had told him that his suggestions were very good, that he had a wise head on his young shoulders, and that if he was amenable, he could now attend the management meetings that were always held behind closed doors, meetings that only Mrs Durin and a select few attended. Balin became a regular at such meetings and never took notes, he memorised everything he needed to know instead. Mrs Durin often followed his suggestions and nicknamed him Godsend.

 

Balin bought Eleanor a jar of the rich dark coffee that she liked so much. She pressed close to him, her curves adding new movement to the music around them and giving Balin very exciting ideas. She talked to him about the book that he’d given her recently, her feet resting in his lap, two cups of his coffee on the table beside them.

 

Dwalin teased Balin filthily but looked pleased too. Whenever Dwalin got in trouble with the police, Balin went to collect or visit him. He came to know the names of various police officers in such places and chatted to them while he waited. They often wondered aloud how Balin had ended up with a brother like Dwalin, Balin smiled.

 

“God’s curse,” was always his twinkling reply.

 

Eleanor knew exactly what he meant. So did Dwalin.

 

*

 

They got married in a small chapel one spring morning. Eleanor wore a pastel-coloured suit and carried a spray of carnations that matched the bright flower tucked behind her ear. She walked down the aisle with her nephew on her arm and Mrs Durin behind her in dark-pink satin. Balin wore grey with a turquoise tie that matched Eleanor’s. His buttonhole matched hers too.

 

Dwalin was the best man, representing Balin’s family along with Gloin and Oin and their wives, and the reception was held at Erebor. The cake was dense vanilla with jam and cream and the drinks flowed, especially the whiskey. It was a happy day, even if Dwalin did insist on singing several of his bawdy songs at the reception. It was the right crowd for it.

 

Eleanor held Balin close when they danced together and threw her carnations to Thráin, on leave from the army and happy to have a free meal. Balin had many plans– for his students and for Erebor. It was what Mrs Durin paid him to do; it was what his parents had prepared him for.

 

*

 

Balin saw Erebor change and mutate. He saw how the crowds there changed too. He attended the funerals of both Mr and Mrs Durin. Both could be said to have died in the line of duty – Mrs Durin had a heart attack one night at Erebor, while Mr Durin died at home, his mind still firmly on distant shores, under gunfire and up to his knees in mud and addictive despair.

 

Balin saw Thráin grow older and father three children. He saw Frerin continue the family traditional of sons following in their father’s footsteps; he saw Dis and Thorin chose their mother’s path instead, taking Erebor on their shoulders with grim determination (Thorin) and much delight (Dis).

 

He attended Frerin’s funeral all too soon and wouldn’t ever forget that day, witnessing Thorin’s bowed posture, Dis comforting her infant sons, Eleanor throwing blue flowers into the open grave.

 

Dwalin was frequently in and out of prison and collected more tattoos. He told Thorin that he’d be helping out at Erebor, Thorin needed someone on the door, didn’t he? Thorin looked at him with blank grieving eyes, but accepted the offer. For a while, he ran Erebor in name only, Balin and Dwalin kept things running smoothly until Dis, newly-widowed, staged a solo intervention and forced her surviving brother to grasp that survival and stop sinking. She was right in saying it was what Frerin would have wanted, their mother too.

 

Eleanor and Balin often contentedly smoked their pipes together, discussing books and the world’s changing taste in music. Balin retired from teaching eventually and they were both seen less often at Erebor amongst the public, but they were there whenever Thorin needed them and for the management meetings of course. Eleanor still danced with Balin on Erebor’s dancefloor, accepting the hoots from Bofur and the sweet compliments from a very young Ori, brought occasionally to Erebor out of hours by his harried older brother Dori. Eleanor often looked after Ori, Kili, and Fili, seeing as their parental figures were occasionally vastly overwhelmed by everything else in their busy lives.

 

Eleanor and Balin never had any children of their own, the only blessing in life that they were denied.

 

*

 

The cancer took Eleanor slowly. No plans of Balin’s could slow his wife’s long lingering passing. She was denied her pipe and always laughed whenever the nurses tried to dress her in skirts or dresses. Balin made her tea and read her books. Eleanor could still discuss them with him. They couldn’t dance together anymore though.

 

The day that she died was dewy fresh. Balin kissed her one last time and regretted that he would retain this memory of her so silent and sapped of life. But he had far more memories of his wife’s laughter, of her fine unquenchable spirit, of dances and pipe smoke. Those were the memories that would linger most.

 

Thorin could not express anything other than regrets and condolences – grief always pulled him back to Frerin. Dis hugged Balin fiercely with tears in her eyes and made a toast at the meal after the funeral that everyone applauded. It rained that day and Balin wore his grey suit with a turquoise tie. Dwalin didn’t leave his side and offered him whiskey without a word. Balin found that he could smile quite easily – Eleanor had lived happily and without regrets and Balin wouldn’t lessen her by doing otherwise himself. He lifted a glass to her silently. He missed her most when he saw her pipe sitting beside his on the mantelpiece.

 

Smaug, who had so recently and vividly made himself part of their lives, sent Balin a condolences card.

 

*

 

Balin only had two tattoos. One was identical to one of Dwalin's, a spiral of lines on his upper arm that only meant something to the two of them, a practice piece for a friend of theirs. It did Balin’s heart good whenever his gaze caught sight of that ink work.

 

The other tattoo curled around Balin's ankle, hidden from the world – a small, almost perfect, purple carnation. Only Dwalin knew about it, he’d been there when Balin had gotten it done during Eleanor’s cancer treatment. Balin had known by then that he didn’t have long left with her and had wanted something more permanent than his memories; more than that he’d wanted to do something to make her smile. Eleanor had been delighted; her laughter loud when he’d revealed the inked skin to her, drawing up his trouser leg with a wink and a comical waggle of his foot.

 

The tattoo he shared with his brother indicated their uncomplicated closeness though only Balin and Dwalin knew what the spiral actually meant. The ankle tattoo signified how important Eleanor was to him still. She was gone but that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Why would it? What he felt for her was never going to change. He didn’t have to plan that, he simply knew it. It was a good thing, warm and strong, something in life that he'd never have to weigh up or second guess.

 

Whenever Balin caught sight of that distinctive flash of purple, he missed her of course but he also remembered her laughter, her carnations, and he smiled, humming jazz.

 

_-the end_


End file.
